


Put Yourself In My Hands

by trepidatingboarfetus



Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Light BDSM, M/M, Pet Names, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27552178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trepidatingboarfetus/pseuds/trepidatingboarfetus
Summary: From the newly released The Lost Boys Volume One GTA V Fanzine!Put yourself in my handsI'll hold you tenderlyPut yourself in my handsYou'll be safe with me
Relationships: Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Put Yourself In My Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FendersFAN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FendersFAN/gifts).



> Remember me mentioning that I was busy working on a huge-ass GTA V Fanzine project with a friend and a bunch of kickass writers and artists? Well, it's out!! Go grab it! 
> 
> https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1wuK7xUDkj4vioR6lWT3eqaeelOHmMwv3
> 
> This one was dedicated with love to A Shipping Life/FendersFAN because I was writing way too much angst lol. <3 
> 
> Put Yourself In My Hands is by The Adicts. Yes, it's pure punk tantric sex on a stick.

_There is nothing to be scared of_

_In my trap frightened of love_

_Don't try to fight me_

_You might even like me_

_Sends a shiver down your spine_

_Told you that you would be mine_

_Hush baby now don't you cry_

_Oh don't you wanna die_

_Put yourself in my hands_

_I'll hold you tenderly_

_Put yourself in my hands_

_You'll be safe with me_

_Sometimes it's hard to bare_

_You can only stop and stare_

_When your life unfolds_

_And your soul is sold_

  
  


Rough calloused fingers caress the soft pads of his feet with a weird featherlike touch that’s almost ticklish but also sensual, and he finds himself grinding his bottom lip between his teeth wishing he could actually _see_ what Mikey’s doing, not just _feel_ the lovely ministrations. 

He whines again, not for the first time, and probably not for the last time either, behind the soiled sock that’s been put into his mouth as a gag. Given explicit instructions to not spit it out -- and _really_ , why _would_ he when it still tastes like yesterday’s heavenly offerings from Michael’s last wank session -- he tries to sit as still as possible, but the smell is overwhelming him along with the touching and tasting...he’s just missing seeing Michael commit these atrocities to his body.

Because he knows the hearing will come shortly. Michael loves to talk, and his charisma and penchant for knowing how to talk shit with the best of them have gotten them out of so many jams during heists, they should be criminal all on their own. 

And talking dirty is something he _especially_ loves. He has it down to an art. He can literally make Trevor come buckets just by describing the act of fucking. 

He knows. Michael’s done it out in public before. That’s another love of Michael’s: exhibitionism. The thrill of getting caught.

“Comfy, baby?” his silky voice clips through the lonesome darkness. 

Trevor nods, albeit somewhat reluctantly at first. They’ve played games, sure, fucked around quite a bit in their short time together already, but something about this feels as if they’ve reached a point of finality, that this isn’t just friendly screwing around anymore. 

He thinks part of it is _definitely_ in the way Mikey refers to him as “baby” a lot more, but he finds he doesn’t mind.

But another part of it is in the frequency of these games, how much they’ve increased, and how Michael talks to Trevor as if he’s the shit on his toilet paper one minute and then the most precious piece of amber the next, whispering things that scare Trevor’s heart because he’s not used to lines from old romantic black and white films with Bogart. The kind of bogarting he’s used to comes on the end of a joint. 

And Michael’s intense, so fucking intense like a goddamn tornado. One minute he’s as clear and calm as a sunny day, and out of nowhere, a storm comes in quickly, wrecking everything in its path, setting everything on its side, and it’s gone like it was never there. That is Michael’s inability to control himself sometimes. He’s getting better. Jesus Christ knows he’s not nearly as fucking bad at it as Trevor is, but a lot of it does seem to be reserved towards Trevor for whatever reason.

But that’s not even it, either. Michael doesn’t even _hurt_ him. 

Trevor’s not some clueless dipshit and has actually talked to a few women who are like his mother and, well, maybe a couple of twinks like that too, but he’ll never tell that to anyone. He’s aware of things called limits and safewords, but it’s never been something they’ve discussed because it feels like the pussification of sex to Trevor, and well, Michael always seems to just _know_ when enough is enough. 

Hands brushing up the insides of his thighs bring him back into the moment. He sucks in a breath and chokes on more of the salty used fabric remnants, whimpering around the offending piece of material. 

“It’s OK, T, “ Michael’s soothing voice coaxes again, and he finds himself reaching towards it without realizing. “You’re safe with me. You know I’m not gonna hurt you.”

It’s not even a question because he _knows_. He just knows that Michael can’t bring himself to do so. They won’t hurt each other no matter how mad they get over the dumbest bullshit because there’s now a bond that goes beyond brotherhood. 

He thinks...no, he _knows_. This isn’t friendly love. This isn’t even brotherly love. 

They are soulmates, and this is the stuff that gets written into novels or the stars. 

A wet tongue drags a long trail of saliva and desire down his semi-chub while a meaty digit strokes at his insides, bringing his cock painfully to attention. He wants to cry out, tries miserably to do so, but the realization that if he does, he could choke on an article of clothing sets in, and he thinks that would probably be the most fucked up way for him to die. 

Trevor Philips? Death by sock. Did he enjoy it? Check.

There’s a shifting of limbs, his and Michael’s, and he becomes suddenly aware of the junction of his ass meeting Mikey’s groin. Room temperature oil drizzles between his cheeks, and hands work diligently to knead it in where Michael wants it to go. Before Trevor can stop himself, he’s blushing embarrassedly like some fucking ridiculous wedding night virgin because no matter how many times they’ve been together now, this part always gets to him for reasons he can’t explain; the part where he knows what’s going to happen next. 

There’s slight pressure and some pain until Michael adjusts angles searching out where they both love it the most, and when he hits it, Trevor sings out for him, sock be damned. 

“Oh yeah, _my pretty_ _baby_ ,” Michael says in the lewdest tone to date Trevor’s ever heard him use, “don’t fuckin’ fight it.” 

The tie over his eyes comes off, and sky blue eyes penetrate him as deeply as the cock in his ass is doing his soul. He stares up into his keeper’s face and muffles nonsensical declarations of devotion into his restraint along with begging and pleading as he feels white-hot fire deep in his belly begin to form. 

Michael captures his lips with his own, kissing and sucking as if he’s a succubus who craves the life from him. He pushes Trevor’s legs forward, trying to go as deep as he can, warranting a loud groan as a reward. “C’mon, Trevor...look in my eyes.”

He’s literally a sopping ball of a mess as he peeks upward at the body hovering over his. His dick is so engorged, it’s practically purple and ready to explode like a fucking rocket right off his abdomen if only he’d let it, he’s so hot all over like the fires of Hell have sucked him in for being so goddamn wicked, and when he realizes he loves the beautiful being gazing down at him so lovingly yet so possessively, tears leak from the corners of his eyes.

Michael gently touches his cheek and wipes away an errant wet strand, shushing him. “Hey, don’t cry. C’mon T, look at me. Cum with me, baby. Together,” he promises as he grips Trevor’s fingers in his. 

He never has to lay a hand on himself or have Michael touch him. Michael can get him off just by the act of talking him there and the thought of them cumming together, just as Mikey says.

After the rush is over, they rest together still connected by hand and pelvis. Neither one is willing to be the first to break contact, and that’s how it’s becoming. They’re growing more and more like this, connected at the body and soul, bound to each other. 

Trevor sighs as Michael pulls him to his chest tenderly. “C’mere, angel.” And he drapes the old threadbare comforter over them, then throws an arm over Trevor before settling into sleep. 

He regards the dozing figure before him and thinks that the term of endearment is wasted on the likes of himself and that it’s really the sleeping beauty next to him who’s a fallen angel sent to heal him somehow. 

And he wonders who will write their story into the stars someday. 


End file.
